


Untitled

by kristalwithak



Category: Hozier - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristalwithak/pseuds/kristalwithak
Kudos: 14





	Untitled

If you had known he would be there that night you might not have had the courage to leave the house. But, you didn’t. You didn’t know that Andrew would be there; performing a small set to the 30ish people at the bar that night. You didn’t know he would be there alone without his band mates, with just his guitar. Well, he wasn’t entirely alone. Alex was with him toting a drum box and background vocals. It wasn’t a live rehearsal or a gig coordinated by his manager. Andrew had new music he hadn’t pitched to his label yet and his buddy was the bar’s event promoter. So, the bar staff knew he would be there, to include your bartender bestie. She knew he would be there that night. She dared not tell a soul because she loved her job and didn’t want to lose it. She convinced you to be at the bar that night with the promise of a drink on her and a plea for some time to chat and catch up. This bar was all but dead on a Wednesday night and she could use the company for a few hours. 

Andrew had just wrapped the last of the 2019 Wasteland Baby! Tour. Tour was brutal, everyone was tired and ready to go home. That is what they all did. Andrew had been home for a few weeks. He did his best to relax and enjoy the time off, but his mind was always loud. There was a constant chatter of unwritten lyrics and random scattered melodies floating around in his head. Andrew thrived while on tour. Sure, he was tired and worn by the end of it, but he really felt most alive on stage performing. And besides, he felt it a duty to make music and what’s the point if no one is listening to it. He’d spent a few days around Christmas with his folks in the countryside. It was quiet, but he was anxious to get back to his apartment in the city and stop procrastinating on the new music he had promised in the new year. 

Andrew had said ‘new music’ and that wasn’t a complete untruth. It would be new to his audience. There were a few tracks that had already been recorded that didn’t make the cut for his self-titled or for Wasteland Baby!. There were a few songs that were finished that hadn’t been recorded. He had performed a couple of those in the last weeks of tour. And there were a handful of songs left to write still. He had a solid concept but needed to take a little time to wrap them up. Those were the songs that he needed the bar stage for. He needed to feel them; not in the attic or on a keyboard at his flat. He needed to feel the music on a stage, albeit a small one, in front of someone to listen to it. This bar had been where he and Alex introduced what would become his self-titled nearly 10 years ago, in a very similar situation. Andrew had phoned his college friend and asked for the stage for an evening. 10 years ago Andrew was practically a nobody. Popular culture would not remember his performance of Cherry Wine and It Will Come Back at the bar a decade ago. 

It was January and it was cold. You have plenty of built-in insulation, but you needed to bundle up in spite of it because the winter breeze cut through right to your bones. You’re layered with denim, an impossibly soft cable knit dusty pink sweater, rather ugly fuzzy boots (hey, they are comfortable), and all the outerwear you could carry. Beanie, scarf, trench, gloves, the whole kit and caboodle. You called for a lyft to the bar with the intention of riding home with your bartender bestie at the end of the night when she got off. You didn’t plan to be intoxicated, you just despise driving and will avoid it at all costs. 

You get to the bar and find a seat at the counter, which isn’t hard to do. It’s a small space; warm and inviting but not bustling on a Wednesday night. Your friend pours a bourbon for you and her. You talk about work and holiday family drama in between customers for an hour or so. If you had known who would have sauntered into that bar in the next moments you would have run for cover. You were blissfully ignorant and your friend was in giggles knowing what was coming. The bourbon had warmed your hands and your face enough that you had shed all your outerwear and had pushed the sleeves of your sweater up to your elbows. 

Andrew walked into the bar with Alex at quarter to 10. The bar was poorly lit, small and intimate, there were about a dozen people scattered at tables and at the counter. Andrew walked directly to an older man in a blazer; smiled and shook his hand and exchanged a moment of small talk. You didn’t notice until he stepped up onto the little wooden stage in the corner. His boots sounded off on the planks as he stepped up and sat down his guitar case. He was tall. Taller than you would think judging from pictures. He pulled off his beanie and let lose his hair. It was wild and a mess, you could tell he hadn’t done much with it before stuffing it into his hat. He hadn’t shaved in maybe a week or two and his beard looked soft and close to his face. He removed a heavy Sherpa lined coat and set it on a chair with a scarf. Underneath he was wearing a grey V-neck sweater, but he must have been hot because he had rolled the sleeves up his forearm. 

Your heart nearly stopped beating. Your vision went a little black around the edges, like a vignette around the low-lit bar. Andrew Hozier-Byrne had just walked into your small-town pub down the street and you were about to lose your shit. You glared at your friend behind the bar. You were preparing to flee. You were positive that your nerves would not be able to survive being in such a close proximity to Andrew fucking Hozier fucking Byrne. She knew you well and counteracted your flight response by gripping your hand as you swung around in your chair. Then all of your sense left you and you stayed; you studied him as he said a few words to Alex and gathered his guitar from the case on the floor. Nobody introduced them to the crowd at the bar. A handful of the staff gathered around a few tables near the stage and a couple of the patrons turned around in their seats to watch what was unfolding at the corner of the bar. Most everyone else in the bar save the staff were middle aged men sharing a drink with coworkers after a day’s labor. They seemed unimpressed or uninterested in the frighteningly attractive man strumming at his guitar. 

Time stopped for you. You could feel your heartbeat in your limbs. Your hands and feet were throbbing and heavy. You forgot where you were. You were transported to a dark room with no one there but you and him. You didn’t know what circumstances had led him there that night and you didn’t care. You were terrified he may glance in your direction so much so that you were shaking, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. There was no mic on him. He spoke softly something that didn’t register with you. Then he spouted out a few lines of ‘The Humors of Whiskey’ and got the attention of the old men in the room. He smiled shyly and started to strum the chords of ‘Shrike’. He played the song and his voice was clear and rested. He continued to play familiar sounds for what could have been minutes or hours or days. He played ‘From Eden’ and it was heartbreakingly beautiful on acoustic. With so few pairs of eyes to find in the small crowd, several times his gaze landed on yours across the room and you froze with fear. His mouth smiled ever so slightly. He played ‘Cherry Wine’ and then ‘Wasteland, Baby!’. His hands worked the guitar like it was an extension of his very body. His voice was smooth and soft and carried through the chatter of the bar. He went on to play few songs you didn’t recognize about global warming and corrupt government. It seemed as if you were the only person in that pub that he had the full attention of and he found himself looking in your direction more frequently as the set went on. It felt good to perform new music in such an intimate space. He was buzzing with excitement. He felt energized so much so that he may not sleep for a week. He finished the set with ‘My love will never die’. The lyrics were thick and heavy in his chest and he barely moved; he barely breathed through it. 

You inhaled for the first time in what seemed like forever as he thanked the room for allowing him to sing his songs. You still hadn’t moved in your chair; you hadn’t even shifted on your seat. Your back ached and your feet were numb. Andrew closed up his guitar in its case and stepped down from the stage. You finally swung back around to face your friend behind the bar. She had already set another round of bourbon in front of you in anticipation. You practically inhaled it. It burned your mouth and your throat and was hot and heavy in your stomach. Your hands were shaking and your insides were wound tight. You looked up through your hair in your face to see your bartender buddy put a glass of bourbon into the hand of Andrew. Into the hand of Andrew Hozier Byrne who was now sitting on the stool next to you at the bar. Shit. Your spirit left your body and you watched as you looked at his face and extended your hand in an introduction. He smiled and shook your hand, his fingers wrapping around the entirety of yours. He said ‘pleasure to meet you, y/n, I am Andrew’, as if you didn’t already know who the fuck he was. You, being ever so awkward responded with ‘I know. I love you. I mean I love your music! Shit.’. Andrew giggled a bit as you hung your head in shame and responded, ‘thank you very much’. And then, by some miracle, he asked you where you were from and what brought you to the bar that night. Before long, you found yourself sitting face to face at that bar with fucking Hozier talking about your childhood and how much he loves the anonymity of this small town. You talked about how much you loved the way he wrote your favorite song. You didn’t think much of it when he mentioned how dark your eyes were in contrast to his mossy green ones. You told him the story of how you and your bartender bestie had met at his show a few years back and you laughed. The two of you sat there in that bar for hours, conversing like you were old friends reconnecting. It was well into the next day when you noticed that you had your hand on his thigh and his fingers in your hair. Somewhere inside those few hours you had lost your inhibitions and his eyes were dark and hungry on you.  
The bar was empty except for you and Andrew, the bartender and the clean up crew. You had lost track of time. You didn’t know what to do so you kept dragging out the conversation in hopes that Andrew would lose time as well. He leaned forward toward you ever so slightly, his voice was low and quiet. He said to you ‘talking with you has been lovely’. He paused and it was silent for a long moment. He studied your face and you tried to hide it behind an imaginary veil. Andrew asked ‘Would it be too bold of me to ask if I might kiss you?’. You stared at him for a moment, unable to speak. You could only respond with a shake of your head through the shock of it. He accepted your unspoken answer. He laid his hand on your neck, his thumb barely touching your cheek. His fingers pressed into the back of your neck and you lifted your chin up as he put his mouth on yours. His lips are soft and full, his breath hot. He breathed you in as you forgot how. The kiss was soft and almost innocent until it wasn’t. Before long, it turned wanting and needy. He was gripping your head with both hands, drawing heavy breaths in between barely audible moans and whines. You were light-headed and spinning as you still had forgotten to breathe. He removed his mouth from yours and lifted your chin and scraped his teeth on your neck as you finally were able to catch your breath. He buried his face into your neck and whispered ‘Can I take you home? Please?’. You nodded in agreement. In a single fluid movement, he had your hand in his as he made his way for the door. Andrew doesn’t drive either, so he quickly hails a cab. He sits with you in the back seat. His hand is gripping your thigh and your hand is in his hair. The ride is short; his apartment is not far. He is kissing your cheek and your neck as he is asking for your permission. He pleads for your agreement and tells you his intentions as you leave marks on his clavicle. He says in almost a growl ‘I mean to bed you if you would have me. Are you ok with that?’. You can’t even form actual words and instead respond “uh-huh” with your mouth still on his neck. 

Without loosing your hand, he unfolds himself from the back of the cab and pulls you across the seat with him. His stride is long as he makes his way to the elevator. You have trouble keeping up and you practically need to run to stay beside him. He thinks this is cute and chuckles at your effort. Not much is said in the elevator up to his apartment. He shifts on his feet a little; he seems nervous. To say that this was not ordinary behavior for him would be an understatement. He’d been on tour for a year and a half and practically in hiding before that. He certainly didn’t make a habit out of taking women home from the pub. And you were standing there next to him with your hand still encased in his, feebly attempting to convince yourself that you were not dreaming. For the second time of the night time shifts. The elevator doors open in perceived slow motion. Andrew steps into the hall and its as if you are floating in a dream. He is moving so slowly and quietly toward his door. He fishes his key from his pocket but stops and turns to face you at his door. His eyes are searching your face. “Are you ok with this?” He looks so worried, as if he’s half expecting you to turn him down and walk away from him. “Most definitely yes” you smile at him. He bounces on his toes a bit and grins. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulls you to your toes and presses himself to you. He places a few kisses to your forehead as he opens his door. 

He pulls you into the apartment and pushes the door closed behind you. He takes a step into you and presses your back to the door. His arm is still around your waist, his long and slender fingers taking up all the space on your side. With his other hand he squeezes your arm softly. He then spreads his hand across your chest, just below your neck. His fingers and thumb press into your clavicle and the front of your shoulder. He lowers himself and puts his forehead to yours. He inhales sharply, closes his eyes and shakes his head; silently chastising himself. He’s excited. His heart is racing and he’s losing his composure. He needs to calm down. He kisses you and his lips are plush and soft. His beard is scratchy in comparison against your skin. You both get a little lost in the kiss. His hand creeps up ever so slightly and his fingers wrap around your neck. You whine a little into his mouth and he smiles against yours. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, squeezes your neck gently and lets out a low moan that is more like a growl. You feel your heartbeat on your face and your lady bits. He smells like sandalwood and black chamomile. He tastes like pear and the bourbon from the bar. Its mildly intoxicating. You must be drunk because what you do next cannot be explained. You break this passionate kiss with a laugh. You fucking laugh. Because there is no way that this is real life, you think you must be dreaming. Andrew straightens himself; confused. You drag a finger across your lip. “Oh no, love, is everything alright?” Andrew questions you. “Hmm. Shit, I’m sorry. Yes, of course.”, you answer. His face softens and he smirks at your choice of words. You attempt to explain. “Andrew, I, ehm, I think I’m a little nervous. I think I’m losing my shit here.” You laugh at yourself again. “Try to hold it together darling”, Andrew says with a smile. “All I want is to make you feel good if you would allow it. Let me try. I’ve not even begun” he says with a wink. “Yeah, erm, yes, I want that too. You’re so……….and I’m……….I don’t know if I can compose myself”, you stumble over your words. He responds with “I’m so ready and you are stunning.” He takes your hands in his. “Allow me this. Do as I say and I promise you won’t be disappointed.” You shivered and nodded in agreement. He kisses your hand, pulls you to the living room and sits down on the couch. 

Andrew’s apartment is small. There is a well-appointed modern kitchen past the foyer. Attached to it is a large room lined with floor to ceiling windows simply furnished with a small dining table with a few chairs, a large light grey sectional couch with a low coffee table and about a dozen potted plants scattered around the room. The wall not covered by windows was decorated with no less than 8 guitars. There was a hallway that let to a bathroom, a room being purposed as a home studio and the bedroom suite with another bathroom attached. Andrew tugs at you, “Join me love”. You kick off your ugly boots and swing a leg around and sit on his lap, straddling him. He is all smiles. You lay your elbows on his shoulders, he snakes an arm up on your back and under your sweater. He pulls you closer, grasps the back of your neck and kisses you, open mouthed and needy. You tangle your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. Andrew whines and moans softly as he explores your mouth. He whispers against your lips, “pull”. You remove your lips from his and look him in the eyes. He smirks and lifts a brow. You close your hand around the curls at the nape of his neck and tug. He closes his eyes, bares his teeth, lifts his chin and growls. His response was quite possibly the most erotic thing you had ever seen. You take the opportunity to lightly bite at his neck. Andrew shivers and shakes a bit. 

Andrew holds you tight against him with both arms and stands up. He carries you like that, pressed hard against his chest, to his bedroom. His bed isn’t made and you can tell by how the sheets are messed that he slept right in the center of the king size mattress. He leans forward with you still in his arms, braces himself on a knee, and lays you on the edge of the bed. He hovers over you on his elbows, his hair falling around both of your faces. Again, his mouth is on yours, seemingly intent on memorizing the pillowy feel of your lips and your taste. Your head is spinning. It was like there was a drug on his lips. You are hooked, there would never be enough. 

Andrew stands up. You whine at the loss of him and sit up in a mirrored motion. Your lips are red and a little swollen, slightly parted as you breathe heavy. Like a magnet he reaches out his hand and drags his thumb across your lips. He stands there just staring at you for a moment before he reaches down to remove his boots. He pulls off his socks and lays them on his boots. His belt quickly follows. He bends forward and removes your socks and adds them to the pile. Then his pants and sweater join the pile on the floor. He is standing there at the foot of the bed in nothing but loose-fitting boxers. His hair pooled on his shoulders. Shit if it wasn't the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Andrew then takes a step forward. He grabs a handful of his hair and sort of holds it back out of his face. You reach up and barely touch his stomach with your fingertips. You replace your touch with your lips. You inhale deeply and press your lips to his skin. His muscles tense and jump underneath. He reaches down and gathers up the bottom of your sweater in his hands and pulls it up and off over your head. He drops your sweater in the pile with the rest. He drops to his knees on the floor in front of you. You are face to face at the foot of the bed. 

Andrew was practically overflowing with confidence, he carried it with him far off of the stage. You however were acutely aware of your flaws as his eyes were hungry on you like a man half starved. You shifted to lean back on your palms, attempting to hide a bit of your belly that rolled over your pants when you sat; and to create a little space between you. The absence of comfort in your skin wedging distance between you. Andrew’s eyes were all over you, scanning the newly exposed skin. He watched intently as your full breasts rose and fell along with your shaky breathing. Andrew leaned forward on his knuckles and peppered kisses on your neck, jaw and lips. He softly presses his mouth on your closed eyelids. He whispers ‘you are so beautiful’. He straightens and curls his fingertips underneath the waistband of your pants. He makes quick work of the button and pulls your pants down and off as you lift your bum from the bed. He drags his hands up your legs, stopping on your thighs where your legs meet your hips to press his fingers into your skin. His eyes are following his hands on your body. He glides his hands up to your sides, his fingertips are like sandpaper on your soft skin. He lingers every so often to gently kneed your flesh in his hands; following where your waist curves in and your breasts out up your torso. He slides his fingers across your shoulders and down the back of your arms. He grasps your hips tightly and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He coaxes your legs apart with his hip and presses his chest to yours. His erection presses hard against the inside of your leg and your hold onto his biceps. 

He ever so slightly pushes and pulls at your hips, rocking you against himself as his mouth finds its way back to yours. Without breaking the kiss, he guides your arms onto his shoulders. He tangles your hands into his hair and he wraps his arms around your waist. He’s holding you tight to him. One hand splayed on your back and the other gripping your shoulder. His skin is scorching hot. He’s practically melting into you. Low humming sounds come from his chest; you feel it before you hear it. His breath hot like fire in your mouth. Your heat pressed hard against his leg; your nails pressed into his scalp. Andrew is mumbling half thoughts through his teeth in between hungry kisses and deep breaths like “feels good”, “so soft”. He lets out a low hum that reminds you of the first notes of “Arsonist’s Lullaby”. He’s like a caged animal. His eyes are squeezed shut; his brows pressed together. Every muscle in his body is tense with effort, attempting to keep himself from going feral. He keeps spouting out random words like “sweet” and “need” and “I can’t” and “fuck” a couple times. 

Andrew is gripping and pulling at your ass. He’s palming your breast through your bra. You bite and suck bright red marks onto his neck. His eyes snap open. He braces himself and leans on his fists. He crawls up onto the bed, pushing you into it with his body. For a moment his hands are all over you. His eyes are dark and hooded. His touch elicits chills through you. He smiles at how responsive you are to him. Your chest is painted red with arousal; your core is aching. Andrew gathers both of your wrists into his large hand and holds them pressed into the mattress over your head. He peels off your damp panties with the other. His open mouth is on your chest and your neck breathing hot and scraping his teeth on your skin. He coaxes your legs open underneath himself with his knee. He lays his hand over your mound. Its soft and wet and his cock jumps in his boxers. The heat of you is scorching his hand. You start to panic. You say “Just a minute. I need to breathe.” You playfully press yourself into his hand. He looks up at you through his hair and says “I can’t fucking wait” and smiles. He tightens his grip on your wrists. He presses his thumb onto your clit. You inhale sharply and your eyes widen. He begins to rub little circles into you and your legs are already starting to shake. You pull a little at his hand restraining you and he smiles and shakes his head. “Be good” he says as he tightens his grip even more. He continues to press circles into your clit as he slides a long, elegant finger into you. You nearly combust and Andrew chuckled softly at the shock on your face. He slowly moves his finger in and out of you a number of times before adding another. He rubs his rough fingertips along your walls and adds yet another. He’s playing at you like a guitar and you are a moaning mess beneath him. He’s repeating “so soft” and “so wet” as he fucks you with his fingers. He can hardly contain himself with the thought of sinking his more substantial appendage into you. He curls a finger inside you and presses hard. He’s rubbing circles on your clit and g-spot now and you start to shake. He doesn’t let up and his arm is tense and straining. His hand is soaked with your arousal. There is fire pooling in your belly, your insides are wound painfully tight. Your entire torso is vibrating, your walls squeezing tightly around his fingers. You chant obscenities as your orgasm comes fast. Andrew moans some satisfied sounds as you come undone. He presses into your heaving chest, his damp curls sticking to his forehead and his neck. He says “Fuck, you are stunning when you cum. Shit” as you come down. You were likely to levitate without the weight of him on you. 

Your limbs are heavy. You are laying in a bed tangled up with fucking Hozier. You think to yourself that surely you will wake from this dream soon. Andrew’s mouth is on your neck and his hands in your hair. He’s grinding his erection into your leg. He drags his fingers down your body as he shuffles off the edge of the bed. He grabs your thighs and pulls you across the bed. He looks so beautiful standing there that you can't help but stare. He seems impossibly taller from your perspective sitting on the edge of the mattress looking up at him. He touches your face lightly. You reach up and slide your hands across his chest and his torso. You drag your nails across his belly and just underneath the waistband of his boxers. He’s looking down at you; his mouth a little slack. You tug his boxers down to the floor. His erection bounces off his stomach. He’s like a pillar; straight and long and substantial. He is perfectly proportioned and his member fits beautifully on his surprisingly toned body. He allows you a moment to just look at him. Then, in a movement so uncharacteristically graceful, he grasps your shoulders, pulls you to your feet, spins both of you, sits himself on to the edge of the bed and pulls you straddling on top of him. He rips off your bra. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll get you another.”, he chuckles as he consumes your now bare chest. You are pressed together at all points. Not even a hair's breadth between you. His arms seemingly wrapped around you twice. You are sitting there on him, eyes level. Andrew is instinctively rubbing his cock against your wet heat. With one hand he grabs at your ass cheek and lifts you up on your knees. With the other he grips onto himself and barely presses into your entrance. He wraps his arm back around you and harshly pulls you down onto him. You hiss at the stinging pain of it, just barely accommodating him. He bares his teeth and rolls his hips, somehow pressing into you even more. You have handfuls of his hair and he has handfuls of your flesh. He is gripping at your ass and shoulder, pressing fingertip bruises into your skin. 

You stay like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together. You attempt to raise yourself slightly up on your knees, but Andrew has such a tight grip on you that you have no range of motion. You pull at his hair and he growls. His voice is a low rumble as he says “Honey, say my name. Tell me what you need. “. “Fuck Andrew, move!”, you respond. He chuckles and grasps your hips hard. He pushes and pulls at you, sliding you on his lap. The base of his dick rubs against your clit as he glides in and out of you. He is in complete control of your body; moving you on him in a steady tempo. Your entire body ignites and knots start to form in your core. He lifts you and thrusts up into you, making your breasts bounce up in front of his face. His features are soft and his breath is deep and heavy through his open mouth. You exhale a chorus of ‘ahhs’ in time with his thrusts. Before long, he goes back to pushing and pulling at you and you feel the familiar wave of heat building quickly. You tighten your grip on his hair and his cock. Andrew hisses and lets out an ‘ahh' in harmony with yours. Then he stills you. You whine. He returns to thrusting himself up into you, just long enough for the tide of your orgasm to recede. He alternates between the rocking and thrusting, allowing you to teeter on the edge of orgasm until you are a shaking, mewling mess. You mindlessly grasp at his hair and shoulders as he wills your body around him. The entire surface of his body glistens with sweat, his hair sticking to his neck and face. Your chest and shoulders and face are lit up bright red. You are chanting his name and pleading for a release, the knot in your core wound painfully tight. He looses his bruising grip on your hips and pulls your hair and wraps his long fingers around your exposed neck. You nearly cry out a string of obscenities. You uncontrollably grind and rotate your hips into him. The wave of your orgasm crashes into you so hard you nearly drown. Your walls are gripping his cock so hard he yells out loud. 

And then a switch flips for Andrew. He lets the animal from its cage. In a moment he appears to transform into something feral and wild. His hair is pointed out in all directions from the humidity the two of you have created in the room. The features that were so soft on his face a minute ago are now hard and dark. He doesn’t wait for you to come down or for you to catch your breath. He stands and spins and practically throws you up to the head of the bed. He crawls to you on his hands and knees, stalking to you like a predator. His face is nearly hidden in the shadow of his hair. He straightens himself, kneeling at where your legs would be if they weren’t spread out before him. He grabs a hold of your inner thighs, his thumbs pointed to your wet and swollen heat. He presses your legs hard against your chest. He doesn’t linger, he wastes no time in sheathing himself inside you clear to the hilt. You are filled completely with him. The length of him overwhelming, painfully pressed to your cervix. He drags himself slowly out of you, barely touching before slamming into you again, testing his limits. Andrew is mostly still, save his hips slamming into you. You are a writhing, vibrating animal beneath him as he quickly picks up the pace. His teeth are clenched, his mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes are wide and veins are bulging from his arms and his neck. From your perspective his body is all sinew and sweat and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. He is like a machine plowing into you at a punishing pace. His pelvis slaps against your swollen and over-sensitive clit each time he bottoms out into you. His face is contorted into something beautifully between intense pain and overwhelming pleasure. And for all his refined words and poetry, he’s reduced to uttering a frankly obscene song of grunts and moans as he chases his own release. He has no words, only agonizing cries from his chest. He manages to draw out one final orgasm from you. You incoherently cry out as he continues to pound himself into you through your release, your walls vibrating around him and gripping him tightly. Andrew lets out one final cry as he reaches a point of no return. His previously fluid and smooth movements are becoming ragged and rough as he continues to mindlessly thrust himself into you. He continues as his orgasm crashes over him, tension exploding from every pore of his body, his eyes pressed tightly shut. He slows his pace as he spills himself deep inside you. He eventually stills and collapses onto you. 

Time passes and Andrew is holding your hand to his chest, calming your racing heartbeat with his slow and steady breathing. Your skin is sticky and becoming cold as the sweat evaporates. He holds your hand so sweetly that it breaks your heart as he helps you off the bed. You share a hot shower and he softly caresses the dark bruises he left on your thighs and hips. He says ‘are you alright?’, concern obvious on his face. “Fuck, yes.”, you reassure him. He smiles shyly, his eyes downcast, almost as if he’s embarrassed. He leads you again to the bed. He lays you down and he wraps himself around you like a blanket. You are completely surrounded by him. You fall asleep as the sun comes up.


End file.
